


You Wish That You Could Be Like The Cool Kids

by telekinesiskid



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Bully-Victim Lars, Bullying, Kid characters, POV Second Person, Victimisation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinesiskid/pseuds/telekinesiskid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get bullied a lot. You get bullied because you’re still learning that being yourself isn’t always preferable to being someone else and being someone you’re not. You’re still learning that the world is cruel and that kids are cruel, and you get bullied for many reasons that you can’t fix but one of those reasons is that you’re friends with Ronaldo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Wish That You Could Be Like The Cool Kids

You get bullied a lot. You get bullied because you’re still learning that being yourself isn’t always preferable to being someone else and being someone you’re not. You’re still learning that the world is cruel and that kids are cruel, and you get bullied for many reasons that you can’t fix but one of those reasons is that you’re friends with Ronaldo.

It’s not fair. He gets bullied just as much as you do but he doesn’t _feel_ it in the same way that you do. He isn’t affected by it. He just picks himself back up and brushes himself off and smiles and comes towards you, and you actually start to back away from him because it isn’t _fair_. This isn’t _right_ – you _like_ Ronaldo _,_ but Ronaldo is the only person who talks to you, like a real person, and you wonder if that’s the only reason you like him and you don’t _know_ anymore– you just…

You don’t know.

He takes you after school to what he terms an explorer clubhouse but it’s just an old windmill on a hill that someone forgot to board up years ago. You ask what he’s hoping to explore in a dump like this and he tells you straight, beaming and with a flourish: the mysteries of Beach City. He shows you those spooky comic books he seems to have his nose stuck in all day long. You don’t even like horror that much but you find yourself being increasingly drawn to that sort of stuff and you have fun. You actually, genuinely _have fun_ and then you realise that you’re having fun and then you’re not having fun anymore. You get in a mood which ruins the mood because you _don’t_ want to look at dumb comic books.

Comic books are lame.

None of the cool kids ever read comic books.

You know Ronaldo cares for you, and he’s just trying to help, and it makes everything so much worse. He sees that you got all scratched up today and he moans over your bloodied knee and tries to put a plaster on you – one of those stupid kiddy ones with the dumb Saturday morning cartoons all over them – and you actually snarl and shove him away.

He stumbles. But he comes back, peeling a fresh plaster, telling you that he’ll make it all better.

But you know that he won’t.

He can’t make it better.

For as long as he was still around you, he _couldn’t make it better._

So you shove him again.

You shove him and you shove him and you don’t stop and– you _enjoy this–_ you enjoy seeing someone else pushed down for a change, and you enjoy feeling like someone could be terrified of _you,_ even though you’re not popular or rich or attractive and you _like it–_ even though you’re crying now, and it doesn’t stop until Ronaldo is crying too and then you realise what you’ve done– and the only reason Ronaldo carries those stupid plasters around anyway is because he hates to see _you_ hurt, and it hurts, it hurts, _it hurts, it hurts_ –

You always apologise straight after the damage is done and you blame it on everything but yourself – you blame it on bullies, you blame it on school, you blame it on parents, and you blame and you blame and you blame and you blame and you never accept it– you never concede that maybe people were right about you, and maybe no one likes you or talks to you because you’re just an awful person.

Ronaldo still wipes his tears and smiles at you and says that it’s OK and you’re both still OK. He says he forgives you, but he still hesitates when you give him a hand up to his feet, and he still flinches whenever you raise your hand for a high-five, and he still carries boxes of those stupid kiddy plasters around, and he still _stays with you_ because…

Because you’re the only friend he has too.

You feel horrible.

But you do it again.


End file.
